


until you’re all white-knuckled

by Cvsaire



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Riko Moriyama, Easthaven, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/F, F/M, Girl In Pieces Au, Graphic Description of Corpses, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Recovery, Suicide Attempt, if you've read girl in pieces u kinda know no knowledge required tho, neil kinda dipped 4 awhile the first parts gonna be kinda andrew-centric, no proust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cvsaire/pseuds/Cvsaire
Summary: "Andrew draws his knees to his chest and waits for the eyes to drift to him once it’s his turn to speak, he locks eyes with the girls who always ask, “what’s your story morning glory?” or “When are you going to speak silent sue? Did they stitch your lips up too?” Andrew didn’t answer, couldn’t."Or After being found behind a hospital dumpster Andrew is sent to Easthaven and unpacks all of his shit and prays to a God he doesn't believe in that he makes it out. Or the girl in pieces au no one asked for.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	until you’re all white-knuckled

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be an Andrew fic for like awhile ya feel? Girl in Pieces doesn't introduce the 'love interest' for a bit which is where Neil is going to be coming in. ALSO!!!! THIS CHAPTER IS DIFFERENT FROM THE OG CHAPTER 1 POSTED!!!! PLEASE REREAD IF YOUVE SEEN THIS BEFORE!!! Major Tw btw tags mean it hit me up @princedrewpiter on twitter and I can summarise this chapter for you xoxo. People are going to say mean things I'm sorry I don't feel the way these characters do <33 - drew

Andrew felt kind of like a baby seal, all swaddled in white bandages. Arms like clubs and thighs restained.

He hated the feeling of the delicate gauze, it bunched and rode up after too long and a nurse with long, thin fingers would come and swaddle him back into a cocoon of white.

The nurse’s name was Abby, Andrew had remembered from when she had first used her deft piano player like fingers to cover the pale skin that contrasted so well with the open and scabbed over cuts, her name tag had a glare to it as the fluorescents shone down on it.

She was the replacement for the male nurse who Andrew had kicked and flailed his arms against when he had awoken the first night out of ICU and into East-Haven, they soon realized he needed to be treated by the female nurses although he seemed to barely tolerate that.

It was safer for Andrew and everyone else involved for another man to never touch him again.

Andrew hated the white walls, the white gauze, the pale yellow scrubs Abby wore, he hated it all.

Andrew, however, did not hate the bubbly tanned woman who led group therapy every day at 1:30 pm after lunch and free time.

She was to be his confidant, was to be the person he let poke around in his brain until it worked right for the next however long they kept him there.

Andrew knew logically they couldn’t keep him there forever but maybe that would be better for Aaron. Aaron would never have to know about Drake's heavy rings he always wore and how they pinched as he held you down, Aaron would never know and Andrew was glad.

Andrew sat in the scratchy office chairs pulled into a circle in what was just an emptied meeting room, the seat part of the chair reminded him more of the rough carpet that covered the other side of the room than anything you could sit on.

The other patients, boys, and girls sat in the chairs opposite him.

Andrew missed pants. His legs covered in baggy black basketball shorts he had to roll because the string to tie them tighter was removed, they almost past his knees.

Abby had taken them from the lost and found so he had more than whatever clothes the UCSF nurses had shoved into a bag for him.

He had come to East-Haven like the orphan he was, in lost and found items the nurses had snuck him.

He was found naked, slumped against the dumpster in the back of UCSF health with only a bedsheet covered in his own blood to protect him.

Andrew’s eyes were glued to the sky, the accidental beauty of the stars spilled against the black backdrop of space like when Andrew accidentally broke Cass’s favorite salt shaker against her dark hardwood floors had made him shudder a shallow laugh.

Then he couldn’t stop laughing as hysteria and bloodloss got to his head.

The security guard that had found him convulsing in shallow shocked laughter and in a puddle of his own blood had smelt like cigarettes.

Andrew wishes he could’ve inhaled the scent longer than when the man crouched down and asked: “What in the hell has been done to you boy?”

Andrew didn’t quite know himself, couldn’t remember, and it was bliss.

The three days they had him sedated in the critical care center where he couldn’t form a coherent thought were bliss until he realized anyone could do anything they wanted to him in his drugged-out state.

Being unaware was what had gotten him partially into this mess in the first place, he was never going to grow so complacent again.

He also misses sleeves and he misses his dear tender kit even more.

He longs for the cool metal of the tin kit he found at an army surplus store all those years ago, the bandages within covered in cartoon characters, the small pouch filled with his favorites pieces of thick, stong mason jar glass. Andrew loved the way he would have to throw the jar hard as he could against the sidewalk for the thick glass to break.

The carpet-like chairs press imprints into his pale thighs where him scooting back in his chair caused the basketball shorts to ride up.

Andrew draws his knees to his chest and waits for the eyes to drift to him once it’s his turn to speak, he locks eyes with the girls who always ask, _“what’s your story morning glory?”_ or _“When are you going to speak silent sue? Did they stitch your lips up too?”_ Andrew didn’t answer, couldn’t.

He felt his breath against his exposed knees, Alison spoke up first, “Why do we wait for the monster to talk when he obviously has the whole sit-and-stare thing down?”

Andrew only knew the names of the girls because they all wanted to introduce themselves to fresh meat, desperate for outside news other than whatever phone calls they might receive on the bulky white phone mounted in the common room.

“How’s he a monster? Sue here hasn’t said a word to you and you’re already tweaking?” A girl with brown bobbed hair, Janie, Andrews’s brain supplies, argues back.

The girl defending him had surprised him but soon he realized it was just to justify an argument with the princess.

“Shouldn’t you be in the ED unit? Did all the laxatives make you shit out your brains too? Fuck princess, you should know by now we’ve all got our own shit, just because this poor kid wants to zip it, lock it, and put it in his pocket doesn’t hurt you.” Jaine fired again and had a smug smirk against her lips that slowly sunk as Alison started quietly crying and Betsy Dobson let out a sigh and started saying something that sounded muffled to Andrews’s ears.

Andrew felt so exposed as he rested his head against his scrunched up knees. Andrew missed pants.

The sun filtered in through the slightly parted blinds that poorly blocked out the natural light coming from the big windows across the room. Andrew squirmed like all the tiny rays slicing through were focused directly on him.

He felt so vulnerable, so naked, with all the attention back on him as the two girls had finished their little spat. Andrew felt the AC on his legs as goosebumps raised, he didn’t want to be here.

Andrew’s fists clenched, the familiar sting of his fingernails cutting bloody half-moons into the flesh of his palms.

He remembers fists, remembers hitting, and kicking and screaming.

He relishes how numb his body feels and chokes out heavy breaths as Betsy attempts to lead him, and anyone else triggered by seeing his panic sweep over him in a fit of terror, through a grounding exercise.

Group would be over soon, he would not have to be stared at any longer and he could go hide out in the room he was assigned to.

He would have to deal with his freakishly tall roommate who seemed far too well adjusted to the whole place, but that seemed to be the lesser of two evils at the moment.

His brain had serendipitously supplied the fact that his roommate’s name was Matt Boyd and that he has curly hair that Andrew wanted to pull just to see if it would spring back and that the top of Andrew’s head didn’t even reach his shoulders.

Andrew really wanted to hate him.

The older man had to duck through every doorframe everywhere he went and he was so nice to everyone he had to be faking it.

The first time Andrew saw his arms his eyes couldn’t help but stare, he had seen another people with arms like his, maybe not to his extent but matt wore his scars like the fucking battle scars they were and it scared Andrew.

The track marks and thin, spindly white lines mixed with harsh fleshy pink gashes racing up ever part of his arms, Matt had just smiled and said, “It’s alright to look, they’re fading and I don’t even really see them as things to hide and fret over anymore. I’m still getting some sick tats to cover them though, I’ve always wanted to be a tattoo artist.”

Andrew didn't respond. Matt didn't expect him to.

Andrew had decided he would try his best to avoid matt until matt got shipped out because it was obvious which one of them would be going home first, but his plan has seemingly backfired.

Andrew felt pins and needles shock through his leg as they were dismissed from group and he walked out of the meeting room and back to his dorm block and Matt Boyd was following him back to their shared room.

He was just glad there wasn’t a third nuisance.

Andrew wondered if Matt would be a good character for one of the comics he had been planning for days now as he waited for Dobson to get the doctor to let him have a pack of dull crayons and a decent sketch pad.

He had been drawing the comics for a long time in the thick sketchbook he kept bound by rubber bands in his tender kit, the comics featured himself, Aaron, Roland, and everyone else which sometimes included his cousin Nicky.

The sketchbook, along with the rest of the contents of his backpack that had been dropped off with his body at the hospital, had been was the second thing he had asked for written down on a pad of paper. The first was Aaron.

He had frantically flailed his arms and snatched at the doctor’s clipboard until he was brought a pad of paper and scribbled down Aarons’s name over and over asking if he was okay.

They hadn’t known, of course, had no idea who Aaron was.

It had felt a lot like when he was internally screaming when Aaron was puking his guts out and yelling and sobbing that it would have been him dead if Andrew hadn’t come along. He had said when they had found their mother slumped over in the bathtub, she had cheated on her dealer and bought from this guy out of town and the coke ended up being cut with something, Andrew never learned what.

Matt broke him out of his daze as he announced he was going to ask nurses Gordon or Winfield if he could bring his blanket to the common room later that afternoon.

Andrew assumed he would be able to and slowly sunk his head down onto his pillow and stared at Matt’s blue polka dot sheets until the hassle of the day so far lulled him into a fitful nap.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this revised chapter,,, I have no clue how to write dialogue please yell at me in the comments. I don't know my full plans yet for this fic but quarantine has me eager to write to pass the time. Feel free to hit me up @princedrewpiter on twitter and I can summarise this chapter for you if at any point you found it triggering enough you had to stop.


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